


5 Times Someone at MJN Dared to be Ill

by Linguini



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anthropomorphic, Families of Choice, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/pseuds/Linguini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the CP meme:  How about a five times... fic? Specifically: five times that one of the crew did "dare" to be ill (or possibly four, given that that's the number of crew in the company!) - how did MJN cope without them, and how did MJN look after them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Martin

The fever’s the worst part, turning deepening shadows into menacing shapes and the innocent sounds of an unfamiliar settling house into recriminations until all he hears are voices echoing every self-doubt in tender whispers. _Stupid boy, they say. Never knew when to give up. Always hanging on longer than you were wanted. Never could take a hint, could you? You’ll never amount to anything. They’re just tolerating you until they can find someone better, faster, smarter. Less of a failure._

_Stop it_ he whines. _I **have** made it. Aren’t I flying now?_

_Second-rate_ they whisper. _Second-rate airline, second-rate pilot_

On and on the voices whirl through his fevered mind. All he can do is whimper back, until there’s a different voice. Bolder than the ones his fever-addled brain concocts, firmer somehow, coinciding with cool, feminine fingers through his hair. Telling him to hush, that he’s not second rate. That he’s needed, and valued, and loved.

_Calm yourself, my boy_ she says. _Gertie will wait for you. She’s not going anywhere._

He believes her; she’s cunning and shark-like, but has never lied to him, and the coolness of her hands is wonderfully soothing. So he lets himself drift.


	2. Carolyn

The sniffling is the worst part. Bad enough she’s looked down on by customers, by the industry on account of her gender. _Sniffling_ makes them think they have an excuse to treat her like some child.  
  
Martin spends the day looking at her like she’s about to fall to pieces, Arthur makes her endless cups of tea with enough sugar to power an atomic bomb, and Herc seems to have filled every possible nook and cranny with hypoallergenic, environmentally-friendly tissues, that feel made of hemp.  
  
 _Thank God for Douglas,_ she thinks, and then instantly checks herself for fever. Master of self-importance, he’s at least managed to treat her per their normal routine, taking every opportunity to snark at her he can. She almost thinks he hasn’t noticed she’s ill. Until she comes in the next day and finds a container of home-made soup with his distinctive scrawl on it. _Hartebeest stew_ it says, _Compliments of the pack_.  
  
She’d call him in and yell for a while, but she’s not entirely sure she’d be able to keep herself from smiling. And the soup does smell quite enticing.  
  
No matter. A little change to their lodging arrangements will tip the scales again in her favor.


	3. Arthur

The exhaustion’s the worst part. He really wants to get up and make Skip’s tea and Douglas’s coffee. Or was it Skip’s coffee and Douglas’s tea? Or maybe they both wanted tea? Or maybe they wanted Ribena? But there isn’t any on Gertie! Was he supposed to get some before the flight? But they were in Spain. Do they have Ribena in Spain? Who would know? Douglas would know, but then Douglas would know that he’d forgotten the order, and then Skip would know because Douglas would tell him and neither of them would get drink and…and…and.  
  
He startles awake from where he’s been leaning on the galley worktop just as Martin enters.  
  
“Alright, Arthur?” he asks.  
  
“Oh! Skip! I was supposed to get drinks!”  
  
Martin looks at him curiously. “Arthur,” he says gently. “We don’t have any passengers on this flight.”  
  
“Yeah, Skip,” Arthur replies. “But you and Douglas wanted drinks and I was supposed to get them and then I forgot what you wanted and thought that I could figure it out--“ He’s forced to pause halfway through his explanation for a jaw-cracking yawn that makes Martin wince and then eye him more closely.  
  
The pilot moves closer, grabbing Arthur by the elbow and guiding him to a seat. “Sit here,” he says and moves to the rear of the cabin to dig out Gertie’s warmest blanket, draping it over Arthur’s form.  
  
The steward starts to protest, but is again hampered by a huge yawn and then promptly forgets what he’d been trying to say. By the time he thinks he’s sussed it out, he’s asleep again. When he wakes up next, they’re more than halfway home, and he can’t help the niggling feeling he’s forgotten to do something important. But Skip and Douglas aren’t yelling for or at him, so it’s probably nothing and he falls back asleep.  
  
All told, he misses a majority of the flight, which is less-than-brilliant, as flying on Gertie is his favorite pastime. He does feel a bit better when the neither of the pilots passes comment on him sleeping. Skip even goes so far as to pretend Arthur participated in their word game to Carolyn. He doesn’t think Mum’s fooled, though. She especially knows something’s up when he falls asleep in the car and misses an entire round of Yellow Car on the way home, but she just assures him there weren’t even any yellow cars on the way back, and yes she’s sure Arthur, and for the love of Snoopadoop _go to bed!_


	4. Douglas

The fog is the worst part. Bad enough that he sounds like he swallowed an entire field of thistle, his ears feel like they’ve been encased in wax, and even his thickest jumper won’t keep him warm. Now he has to deal with the ignominy of being unable to follow the simplest train of thought to a logical conclusion. It’s as if the rest of the world is set to twice the normal speed, like a record revolving too quickly and he’s trying to catch up. He’s not used to being left behind, and it’s distinctly disconcerting.  
  
It continues throughout the flight as he forgets their destination twice, loses a simple game of County Seats of Britain, and Martin makes all the calls to ATC before he can even process that they need to be made.  
  
Luckily, it’s just a quick out-and-back to Munich, so they land at Fitton that night. Douglas loses himself in the fog again at some point between the landing and when they’ve taxied to their spot, coming to with Martin gently prodding him.  
  
“Douglas, we’re here,” he says. “Flight checks are completed. Time to go home.”  
  
Douglas just looks at him as the gears in his brain try to process treacle.  
  
Martin sighs. “You really are in a bad way, chap. Sure you’re alright to go home?”  
  
Douglas tries to look menacingly at the younger man, but his head aches and all his eyebrows seem to do is draw together in confusion. Martin sighs again and plucks at Douglas’s sleeve until he stands up and follows him out onto the tarmac. “What am I going to do with you, Richardson?” he asks.  
  
Douglas can’t seem to form an answer, but it doesn’t to matter since Martin’s leading the way back to the portacabin. He pushes Douglas gently onto the well-used sofa before heading into Carolyn’s office. Douglas can hear them talking, but can’t seem to force the word to coalesce into any kind of sense, so he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Maybe if he really concentrates, he’ll understand…  
  
Instead he falls asleep, startling awake when Martin prods at his shoes with his feet. “Up and at ‘em, Douglas. Time to take you home.” And then he reaches down and drags Douglas upright. If Douglas were a little quicker on the uptake, he’d notice the lines between Carolyn’s eyes and Arthur’s uncharacteristic silence, but as it is he’s doing well to follow Martin’s simple instructions: jacket, keys, flight bag, into the Lexus.  
  
The drive to Douglas’s is silent as the older man finds himself lost in a half-daze again. With a bit of coaxing, Martin manages to get him into the house, in his pyjamas and into bed, leaving a glass of water and some tablets on the table beside Douglas’s head before heading out to make himself comfortable on the couch. Douglas doesn’t gather enough trains of thought together to thank Martin before he disappear, but as he settles into bed he promises himself he’ll make it up to the younger man. Not that it really matters, as Martin’s not the kind of person to be looking for recompense anyway. Not from anyone, but certainly not from a friend.


	5. Gertie

The not knowing is the worst part. They’ve all made jokes about Gertie’s propensity for losing bits and pieces, but fundamentally they believe she’s solidly airworthy. And then one day Douglas and Martin start the pre-flight checks and everything goes wrong. Several of the buttons light up on the dash, klaxons go off and the pilots exchange worried glances. Clearly, Gertie’s not flying today.  
  
Luckily, there’s a few days’ leeway in their cargo shipment delivery date. Gertie is placed in Fitton’s only proper hangar and the mechanic is summoned. He spends hours with the plane, poking and prodding until he eventually declares that he can find nothing wrong with the old girl and leaves, just as baffled as the rest of them.  
  
The next hours are spent discussing options. Douglas is of the opinion that Gertie’s lied to them once and is probably doing it again, so they should just carry on with the delivery. Martin, being Martin, frets about the potential for an as-yet-unseen fault that will send them crashing to their doom. They argue and bicker with Carolyn throwing in on one side or the other depending on the whim of her mood. None of them notice Arthur walking around Gertie thoughtfully, running his hand along her hull as he goes.  
  
Finally, Arthur pipes up. “What if she’s just tired?”  
  
Martin’s head whips around and Douglas looks over the shorter man at their steward.  
  
“What?” Carolyn asks.  
  
Arthur turns a bit red around the neck under the scrutiny, but squares his shoulders to reply. “What if Gertie is just tired? I mean, Skip had a pretty hard landing yesterday, and Douglas had to make that quick turn to avoid the birds the day before, and we’ve been flying every day for three weeks, so maybe she’s just tired and doesn’t want to fly.”  
  
The three of them look at Arthur, dumbfounded. And then Douglas starts to laugh, followed by Martin and Carolyn.  
  
“Could it really be that simple?” Douglas chuckles. “Who ever heard of a plane that didn’t want to fly?”  
  
“Ridiculous,” Martin says.  
  
Arthur’s face falls at their laughter, but they just turn away to continue their discussion, and Arthur leaves for the portacabin. What he misses, though, is Carolyn’s thoughtful look at his departing back.  
  
“Listen here, pilots,” she finally announces. “Clearly I need to find a better mechanic. There’s no harm in leaving Gertie here for the next couple of days until we figure out what’s wrong with her. I’d rather not take the risk of losing the one airline-ish asset we actually own. Take the next two days off; I’ll ring you if there’s a change.”  
  
Douglas and Martin depart, leaving Carolyn alone with Gertie. She walks to the nose and, feeling a bit foolish, puts her hand on the side. “Take a break, old girl,” she says. We’ll try again in a couple of days.” She slips out of the hangar door quietly, missing Martin creeping in from the other side. Silently, he opens Gertie’s door and heads for the cockpit, sitting in his captain’s chair. He doesn’t say anything, just strokes the console for a minute and leaves his hat on the dash before leaving as silently as he came.  
  
The hangar is silent for a few minutes, broken suddenly by the creaking door and quick footsteps headed in Gertie’s direction. “Just forgot my flight bag,” Douglas announces to the empty air. But he doesn’t head for the door, just makes a long loop around the plane, running his hands along its sides until he ends up at Gertie’s left engine, the original one. Patting it softly, he rubs his thumb at a rivet seam.  
  
 _Sleep well, my girl_ he thinks. _We’ll wait for you._ With one final, affectionate pat, he departs, whistling a soft tune as he goes.  
  
Arthur nods, from his place deep in the shadows where he’d departed initially. He knew they’d come around. And so would Gertie, when she was ready. They just had to give her a bit of time.


End file.
